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Jun. 13th, 2008 10:44 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
hathycolI've not actually been killed by zombies. Sorry to let you all down like that and ruin Blog Like It's The End Of The World Day. I mean, it might happen yet tonight, but thus far I am undead free.
I made that post because, well, dude, zombies. Secondly, I needed something to distract myself with for a few minutes.
I went home for the specific purpose of picking up my A-Level notes. I went there because I desperately needed a change of scenery and to see something different. It ws about half way down the M6 that I realised this was probably a really bloody stupid idea because my house is where Simon first told me he loved me and proposed to me. Different times. But, you know, it happened. By that point, though, it was pretty late and I sort of just wanted to see my mum.
I got home. I ate Chinese. I watched a lot of TV, as parents have some new-fangled tellybox which, long story short, meant I mainlined on Pride and Prejudice and Studio 60 On The Sunset Strip. There's other posts there. That's not important.
For about a week, I'd been trying to get hold of Simon because, frankly, I needed answers. I had no idea why he'd left me, and I was genuinely worried about him because it seemed a massive change of behaviour. In the end, at home for an extra unexpected day due to a change of shifts, I decided that I was bloody fed up of being ignored and hit below the belt. I went to see his mother, asked that he contacted me, and discovered the unpleasant sensation of having to explain that no, I had nothing to do with the break-up, it was all him. What fun that was.
Simon almost immediately afterwards contacted me to arrange a time to phone. That time was today.
We talked. I cried, mostly. It was hideously unpleasent. I have mostly been coping by allowing a tiny little flame of hope to be alive. That he hadn't sen me the money he owed me was a sign that he really wanted me to go to the May Ball, he wasn't talking to me because he was afraid of me not taking him back, stupid stuff like that. I am utterly pathetic. I am aware of this. I had a fairly rational plan for if this wasn't going to happen. I was convinced that if I got a suitable reason as to why he left me - when I left Clare, for example, I faffed around with trying to be nice but eventually said, fairly simply, 'I don't love you any more' which tends to do the trick because it was true, yo.
Well, my wee fire of hope is now well out, and I am sniffling pathetically to the internet instead. I am apparently a heroine of Greek tragedy proportions. We had an argument about six months back, you see, and I am an epic bitch when I'm angry, and I know how to hurt. "Someimes when I come to see you it feels like I'm not even there!" I snarled amongst various other insults. I didn't mean it. I said it to be nasty.
In doing such, karma proved to be true, as I apparently sowed the seeds of my own destruction. We had a horrible, horrible, angst filled conversation. Now, call me silly, but I don't actually understand this. He informs me that yes, he still loves me, yes, he misses me, yes, he is unhappy, but no, he can't be with me because he feels that he can't fix that problem. That problem that I assured him at Christmas and fairly often in the last two weeks didn't sodding exist. And if it did, if he percieved it to, why on earth no bloody well talk to me first? I know we could have fixed it, but instead it snowballed out of control. He's... not been well, recently. Headaches and the like. He's currently on medication that is the sort you should not be making this kind of decision on.
So I think there's something else underneath all this. This is apparently what I'm going to have to depend on, because if I just think it's as flimsy a reason as this, I'll probably go mad hoping beyond hope that he'll see sense. I had a bash at trying to make that happen. Nae joy. I was very politely and very kindly told - oh, god, that's what hurts the most - that no, he wasn't going to change his mind.
I think I am currently doing very well, as I am not currently using the phone to scream 'OH GOD PLEASE DON'T DO THIS TO ME' which is impressive, as that is what is mostly running around my head. Actually, it has been for the last two weeks, but, yeah.
So that's that. Three years and pretty much my earthly happiness destroyed for what I'm going to cheerfully describe as a shit reason. Right now, as is the tradition in the Greek tragedy that is my life, I should be in Cambridge. I was meant to be at someone's 21st birthday party and have a week off work and catch up. Instead, I am sat on my bed, crying my eyes out and probably due for yet another night of crying myself to sleep, which should make my six hour shift in work jolly good fun indeed.
I... had never been happier than I had since we got together. Never. I can pinpoint the moment I fell in love, but I won't name it her, because it's private and the memory is a bit sacrosanct. We had ups and downs, but we were - I thought - strong. We coped with separation and had great times when holidays happened, and spoke every night on the phone. He told me that he loved me every day. Even in the last text message to me, he told me that. And I can't understand why on earth if he did love me - if he does - why he's doing this to me, why we can't just sit down and try and work out what he percieved as being wrong. Because, oh god, this it the pathetic bit, I would take him back in a goddamned heartbeat on the proviso we could talk through that. I just want somebody to hit him upside the head and make him come and talk about this but I know that nobody will do that for me. And I feel like such a fool, because there was me thinking we were this happy couple, that I'd managed to be engaged and be a student and had this lovely summer, this lovely future, in front of an 'us' and now there's just a me who sits and cries in her bedroom.
I didn't think I could feel lower, but hey ho, turns out that I did, and I am. I have no less than no idea how to function like that. I am running on empty and I just can't... do this anymore. I can't keep on feeling like this, where everything in grief and the best I can hope for is alcoholic oblivion or a strage neutrality where I busy myself so much that I don't have time to sit and break down in tears again.
Ironically, my personal world has come to an end today. Funny world, this Greek tragedy malarky.
I made that post because, well, dude, zombies. Secondly, I needed something to distract myself with for a few minutes.
I went home for the specific purpose of picking up my A-Level notes. I went there because I desperately needed a change of scenery and to see something different. It ws about half way down the M6 that I realised this was probably a really bloody stupid idea because my house is where Simon first told me he loved me and proposed to me. Different times. But, you know, it happened. By that point, though, it was pretty late and I sort of just wanted to see my mum.
I got home. I ate Chinese. I watched a lot of TV, as parents have some new-fangled tellybox which, long story short, meant I mainlined on Pride and Prejudice and Studio 60 On The Sunset Strip. There's other posts there. That's not important.
For about a week, I'd been trying to get hold of Simon because, frankly, I needed answers. I had no idea why he'd left me, and I was genuinely worried about him because it seemed a massive change of behaviour. In the end, at home for an extra unexpected day due to a change of shifts, I decided that I was bloody fed up of being ignored and hit below the belt. I went to see his mother, asked that he contacted me, and discovered the unpleasant sensation of having to explain that no, I had nothing to do with the break-up, it was all him. What fun that was.
Simon almost immediately afterwards contacted me to arrange a time to phone. That time was today.
We talked. I cried, mostly. It was hideously unpleasent. I have mostly been coping by allowing a tiny little flame of hope to be alive. That he hadn't sen me the money he owed me was a sign that he really wanted me to go to the May Ball, he wasn't talking to me because he was afraid of me not taking him back, stupid stuff like that. I am utterly pathetic. I am aware of this. I had a fairly rational plan for if this wasn't going to happen. I was convinced that if I got a suitable reason as to why he left me - when I left Clare, for example, I faffed around with trying to be nice but eventually said, fairly simply, 'I don't love you any more' which tends to do the trick because it was true, yo.
Well, my wee fire of hope is now well out, and I am sniffling pathetically to the internet instead. I am apparently a heroine of Greek tragedy proportions. We had an argument about six months back, you see, and I am an epic bitch when I'm angry, and I know how to hurt. "Someimes when I come to see you it feels like I'm not even there!" I snarled amongst various other insults. I didn't mean it. I said it to be nasty.
In doing such, karma proved to be true, as I apparently sowed the seeds of my own destruction. We had a horrible, horrible, angst filled conversation. Now, call me silly, but I don't actually understand this. He informs me that yes, he still loves me, yes, he misses me, yes, he is unhappy, but no, he can't be with me because he feels that he can't fix that problem. That problem that I assured him at Christmas and fairly often in the last two weeks didn't sodding exist. And if it did, if he percieved it to, why on earth no bloody well talk to me first? I know we could have fixed it, but instead it snowballed out of control. He's... not been well, recently. Headaches and the like. He's currently on medication that is the sort you should not be making this kind of decision on.
So I think there's something else underneath all this. This is apparently what I'm going to have to depend on, because if I just think it's as flimsy a reason as this, I'll probably go mad hoping beyond hope that he'll see sense. I had a bash at trying to make that happen. Nae joy. I was very politely and very kindly told - oh, god, that's what hurts the most - that no, he wasn't going to change his mind.
I think I am currently doing very well, as I am not currently using the phone to scream 'OH GOD PLEASE DON'T DO THIS TO ME' which is impressive, as that is what is mostly running around my head. Actually, it has been for the last two weeks, but, yeah.
So that's that. Three years and pretty much my earthly happiness destroyed for what I'm going to cheerfully describe as a shit reason. Right now, as is the tradition in the Greek tragedy that is my life, I should be in Cambridge. I was meant to be at someone's 21st birthday party and have a week off work and catch up. Instead, I am sat on my bed, crying my eyes out and probably due for yet another night of crying myself to sleep, which should make my six hour shift in work jolly good fun indeed.
I... had never been happier than I had since we got together. Never. I can pinpoint the moment I fell in love, but I won't name it her, because it's private and the memory is a bit sacrosanct. We had ups and downs, but we were - I thought - strong. We coped with separation and had great times when holidays happened, and spoke every night on the phone. He told me that he loved me every day. Even in the last text message to me, he told me that. And I can't understand why on earth if he did love me - if he does - why he's doing this to me, why we can't just sit down and try and work out what he percieved as being wrong. Because, oh god, this it the pathetic bit, I would take him back in a goddamned heartbeat on the proviso we could talk through that. I just want somebody to hit him upside the head and make him come and talk about this but I know that nobody will do that for me. And I feel like such a fool, because there was me thinking we were this happy couple, that I'd managed to be engaged and be a student and had this lovely summer, this lovely future, in front of an 'us' and now there's just a me who sits and cries in her bedroom.
I didn't think I could feel lower, but hey ho, turns out that I did, and I am. I have no less than no idea how to function like that. I am running on empty and I just can't... do this anymore. I can't keep on feeling like this, where everything in grief and the best I can hope for is alcoholic oblivion or a strage neutrality where I busy myself so much that I don't have time to sit and break down in tears again.
Ironically, my personal world has come to an end today. Funny world, this Greek tragedy malarky.
